XXIV
The Snake
A narrow fellow in the grassOccasionally rides;You may have met him,—did you not,His notice sudden is.
The grass divides as with a comb,A spotted shaft is seen;And then it closes at your feetAnd opens further on.
He likes a boggy acre,A floor too cool for corn.Yet when a child, and barefoot,I more than once, at morn,
Have passed, I thought, a whip-lashUnbraiding in the sun,—When, stooping to secure it,It wrinkled, and was gone.
Several of nature’s peopleI know, and they know me;I feel for them a transportOf cordiality;
But never met this fellow,Attended or alone,Without a tighter breathing,And zero at the bone.